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Two plastic containers filled with a couple of sandwiches and fruit salad sit on the seat beside me and in Daisy’s yellow lunch box in the fridge back home, ready for tomorrow.

Home.

Mine, and hers for right now. For a while still. Longer if it were up to me. It’s only been just under two weeks, but I’ve grown to like the sight of her in my place. Even with the mess of colours she’s brought with her but has tried to hide.

Like the massive, fluffy starfish slippers I’ve found under the kitchen table or tucked beneath one of the couch cushions, as if she kicked one off and lost it while watching one of the musicals she seems to love.

I’ve noticed several new things about her since she moved in. Her habit of pretending not to be cold all the damn time and instead mentioning that she’s freezing, wrapping herself up in one of her thousand heavy blankets for one.

She’s been bundling up less since I started keeping the heat turned up a couple of degrees, but that doesn’t mean the multicoloured blankets have stopped appearing everywhere throughout the house. On the back of the kitchen chairs, flung over the couch, or even on the back porch, layered with frost.

Getting a basket to keep them all in one place is on my list of things to do.

The time on the dash is a reminder that I have to get my shit together and go inside. As if sitting outside of a school with my car idling isn’t creepy as fuck on its own, being here without a kid of my own only serves to make it worse.

It takes me too long to gather everything from the passenger seat and head into the school, but once I’m there, I feel even less comfortable than I did outside.

A bell rings as voices shout and scream amongst booming laughs and giggles. Lockers slam shut, and kids run past withouta care as to the way they knock into me and have me rocking back and forth on my feet to keep my balance.

Slowly, I slip through the small openings that appear between students and retrace my steps from yesterday. It was far quieter then. No kids sniffling their runny noses or shrieking when they realize they’ve forgotten something in another room or their locker. I prefer this place at night.

“Auntie Bryce!” I hear through the noise once I’ve turned down the hallway leading to Daisy’s classroom.

Abbie is the only child I’ve spent more than a few minutes of time with in my life. My best friend’s daughter is a smiley thing with bright emerald doe eyes and hair so curly and thick that it’s broken too many elastics to keep track of.

A spitting fucking image of Darren, she stands beside an open classroom door and waves wildly at me. A stuffed skeleton is clutched in her hands, and my heart pangs in recognition. She’s had that since she came home from the hospital. The only gift I’ve ever given her that she refuses to let go of, despite the rude comments I’ve heard Darren complaining about from the older kids at school.

“Hi, Skelly,” I say, jumping back a step to avoid smacking into a child who rushes past us. “Are you going for recess?”

She juts her chin. “Yep! Daddy made me a sandwich with blackberry jam for lunch. Nana’s jam! He cut it into a pumpkin.”

“That’s nice.”

“Do you like blackberry jam?”

“Not really.”

Her entire face scrunches. “Why?”

“It’s too bitter.”

“Mom says Dad’s bitter. Is that the same?”

“Your dad isn’t bitter, Abbie. Don’t listen to your mother.”

It’s terrible advice to give a six-year-old. Incredibly terrible advice. Too bad her mom is a bitch who won’t ever stop trying to ruin Darren’s life.

The little girl pushes her finger into the top of the skeleton’s eye socket and hums. “I still will.”

My hands sweat around the containers in my hands, so I adjust my grip on them and look to Daisy’s classroom just up ahead. The door is open, and as much as I care for Abbie, I don’t want to lose my time with Daisy discussing Darren’s ex-wife.

“You better go, Skelly. And make sure your dad knows how much you loved the sandwich he made you,” I tell his daughter.

Her eyes brighten, a grin forming. “Okay! Bye, Auntie Bryce!”

I freeze for a beat when she plows into my legs and squeezes them tight. With a pat on her head, I send her on her way and slip into Daisy’s classroom before another kid has the chance to get too close.

Abbie might be my exception when it comes to children, but I’m still not all that comfortable around them. If I hadn’t been there from the day after she was born, I doubt I’d have gotten close enough to let her hug or tease me.